


Just Another Failed Hobbyist

by I_am_THEdragon



Category: Globozone, Globozone (Webseries)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25964332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_THEdragon/pseuds/I_am_THEdragon
Summary: After accidentally humiliating himself at a Blober Room party, Abdu contemplates whether his passion for music is really worth the trouble.





	Just Another Failed Hobbyist

Al pointed at the unique and fanficul dish displayed on the diner menu, not knowing the name of it yet remembering how it tasted. The chef nodded and silently began cooking with swift, skillful hands. This little Chinese diner was one of Globozone’s little lesser-known delights, being much less popular than the big G-Food cafeteria yet serving much better food and drinks on any day.

Al and Abdu approached an empty dining table and sat down to await their meal. Al could tell that Abdu was still somewhat upset about the incident that had occurred a couple of weeks earlier, but there was little he could do about it. He had tried chasing off groups of murmuring and gossiping bystanders as they pointed and snickered at the poor security officer, but Abdu had advised him not to. Still, it made Al angry to see the lingering fallout of that stupid little accident.

Out of the corner of his eye, Abdu spotted a familiar figure sitting alone at the dining tables outside the G-Food cafeteria. The man, who sported a thick grey beard and a black beanie atop his bald head, had just finished his lunch and was getting up to leave.

“Hey Al, mind if I head off for a moment?” Abdu asked, nervously glancing between Al and the other man. “I’ll be back soon, I just need to talk to someone quickly.”

Al gave a silent thumbs up and Abdu wasted no time getting up to leave.

“Um, excuse me, can I speak with you for a moment?” Abdu requested, gently tapping the shoulder of the bearded man as he was leaving the cafeteria.

“Sure.” The familiar man responded casually, turning around and inspecting Abdu briefly. “Hang on, I think I’ve seen you before. Are you…?”

“Yeah, I’m that guy who spilled water all over your turntables at the Blober Room party.” Abdu sighed with shame. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for ruining your set that night. I got too close, I was clumsy, and I made a huge fool out of us.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” The DJ responded nonchalantly. “It was just an honest mistake.”

“Maybe, but I just hope I haven’t hurt your reputation at all.” Abdu explained. “The original upload of that video alone has over two hundred million views. That’s not counting all the reuploads.”

“Honestly, it’s just been more exposure for me.” The DJ said with a shrug. “People see me and think ‘hey, there is that DJ from the viral video’ and they have all seen a sample of my shows. I’ve actually gotten a lot of positive attention from it, and sympathy over the, uh, near miss.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that.” Abdu said, still feeling rather disheartened. “And I’m glad no-one got hurt.”

“So am I.” The DJ chuckled. “Hey, I am actually doing a show tomorrow night on Platform Four. You’re welcome to come to the party!”

“Uh, thanks, but I think I’ll have to pass.” Abdu declined. “I don’t think I can show my face at another party or music show for a long, long time.”

“Oh well that’s a shame! Are you into the music scene yourself?”

For a moment, Abdu’s face lit up with excitement.

“Yes! I…” He exclaimed, before memories of the recent past settled back in to quell his enthusiasm. “...Well, I used to be. Not so much these days.”

“Ah, well, I guess I’ll see you around later, maybe.” The DJ said, turning back to continue his departure.

“Yeah, good luck with the show tomorrow!” Abdu called out, trying to hide the sinking feeling in his chest.

When Abdu returned to his table, the lunches had already been served, and Al was happily devouring it. The disgraced security officer sat back down silently and began picking unenthusiastically at his own meal. The humiliation from that Blober Room incident was unpleasant, to say the least. Re-uploads of that viral video were still popping up all over social media, often with degrading titles such as _“Clumsy security guy ruins Blober Room party!”_ and _“Idiot spills water on DJ equipment and starts a fire”_. But for someone whose job consisted mostly of sitting alone in a dark office all day, the public recognition wasn’t too bad. At least this time it was just people sneakily pointing and giggling, and murmuring to their friends. Abdu had just about sworn off ever performing on television again after the cuckoo clock incident. The mobs of enraged critics and adoring fans had been so bad that he and Al had to hide their identities until a new controversy took its place.

What hurt Abdu the most, though, was the feeling that he may never be taken seriously as a musician. His experimental music streams were rarely reaching viewer counts in the double digits, yet it seemed like every music enthusiast in the Globozone and more had seen him make a fool of himself. Though he had never told Al, the main reason he showed up to that Blober Room party was in an attempt to reconnect with the music scene and rekindle his fading passion for it. Abdu couldn’t help but wish he had just stayed home that night.

“Abdu!” Al spoke, breaking Abdu from his thoughts. “What’s the matter with you?”

During the contemplation, Abdu had barely touched his lunch while Al’s plate was almost completely clean.

“Sorry!” Abdu chuckled nervously. “I think I zoned out a bit there.”

“You’re still upset about that video going viral, huh?”

“Well, sort of.” Abdu began with a sigh. “It’s more than that though. Al, this is gonna sound unbelievable, but… I think I’ve lost my passion for music.”

Al blinked his eyelids tightly and shook his head, as of shaking himself from a daze of disbelief.

“What do you mean you’re losing your passion for music?!” He exclaimed. “Music has been your passion since we first met, and that was a long time ago! You couldn’t even restrain yourself from making some kind of experimental sounds for a day! I could tell you haven’t been yourself lately, but losing your passion for music?! How?!”

“It’s been one thing after another!” Abdu explained. “I thought music was my life too! But things kept happening! Bad things! It just seemed like whenever I tried to do what I loved, something would go wrong! I know everyone has a streak of bad days and misfortune every now and then, but it’s like it has just been… Causing more trouble than it’s worth. Eventually I stopped feeling the way I used to when making music. That joy, that satisfaction, it’s just not there anymore.”

Al gazed at Abdu with the glassy-eyed sympathy of someone whose friend just told them a family member had died. In some ways, that was what had happened. Abdu’s passion for creating new and experimental musical sounds was a huge part of his identity, and a huge part of their friendship. To learn that it had died somewhere along the way was devastating news to Al.

“So you’re… Giving up on making music?” Al asked with a whimper.

“It sounds really harsh when you say it like that, Al.” Abdu responded. “But I just don’t think it’s meant to be anymore. I think I might just be another failed hobbyist”

With the end of the lunch break, Abdu made the slow trudge back to the safety monitoring office that had become his second home. Beyond its unassuming door lay a dimly-lit jungle of wires, tools, electronics and instruments, illuminated by a large display of monitors depicting live security camera footage from around Globozone. Even the walls were plastered with posters of various musicians and musical events, as a testament to Abdu’s defining passion. The keyboards and synths that surrounded him once felt so familiar, yet now it all seemed so distant and alien. Abdu recalled those many hours spent using the security office as his own personal music studio, working on his strange sounds during work hours. That feeling of reckless pleasure, now irreplicable, no longer accompanied those memories. Looking back now, those wasted hours seemed irresponsible and unprofessional.

When had it all started? Abdu couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment the downward spiral had begun, but he recalled a strange dream. A dream of a musical fantasy in a flooded shopping mall. Everyone joined in and enjoyed the sounds with him, as he had wished they would in reality. From the top of a fountain he played a kalimba, listening to the enchanting voices of sirens below. Drawn to their beautiful voices he had jumped into the floodwaters, chasing after them like chasing after a dream, watching them slip away as he struggled to keep up. As he drowned in the deep, dark water, the last thing he saw was his best friend Al watching helplessly from above. That strange yet vivid dream lingered in Abdu’s memory, presenting itself to him every once in a while.

After that, things slowly took a turn for the worse. Abdu had disposed of his old beloved analog synthesizers after Al plugged it into the Globozone’s wiring, wreaking mild havoc before suffering a nasty electric shock. Abdu simply couldn’t keep that old piece of musical machinery around after that. Then there was the cloning program, which he had selfishly used to create his own band of genetic doubles. The novelty wore off quickly when each clone died in front of him. The cuckoo incident, well, that was the first time Abdu had seen the usually passive people of Globozone turn violent. The thought that it was his music, which he had hoped people would enjoy together, that tore them apart was very disheartening.

Abdu had first known something was wrong after he and Al had spent hours in that dimly-lit office, surrounded by a menagerie of bizarre objects and oddities obtained through online purchase. They had gathered so many strange and unique sounds to piece together into a new song, as a culmination of their efforts, yet Abdu felt strangely empty. When he played back the song it sounded fine, yet the joy and satisfaction that usually came with each new song never came to him that day. He simply stared curiously at the music software, tired and indifferent, wondering what was missing.

Now, the security monitoring room was silent, aside from the slight buzzing of the security monitors. With a heart weighed down by resignation, Abdu approached his office seat and sat down in it, preparing to watch the camera footage for the rest of his shift.


End file.
